


Not Like You

by Sapphy, SapphyWatchesYouSleep (Sapphy)



Series: Sherlock isn't the sociopath in the Holmes family [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Holmesian displacement activity, John's good influence, Mycroft just doesn't get it, Recreational Drug Use, Sherlock's addictions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/pseuds/Sapphy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/pseuds/SapphyWatchesYouSleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks Sherlock's a drug addict. The truth, as always with Sherlock, is so much stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Another little foray into what strange things it does to the mind to grow up with a sociopath for a brother. A sociopath who dotes on you.

Most of the time it was easy. He was rarely short of cases, and he had his own research to amuse him when he was. John was becoming increasingly good at recognising the danger signs early and finding some little thing to amuse or distract him. But sometimes, just sometimes, there was nothing; no puzzles or games or experiments or even people to amuse himself by irritating, and then all the buried desires rose up and threatened to swamp him.

John, dear stupid man, thought that Sherlock was a drug addict. It was not a wholly foolish conclusion to draw. He had been a user for many years, still was one occasionally, when the mood took him and the risks seemed worthwhile. It was only natural that John, working hard every chance he got in a GP’s surgery in the heart of London, should assume him an addict. He might be less stupid than most people but how could he possibly know that the drugs were simply a way to distract himself from thoughts of what he really craved?

It had been four weeks two days and eleven hours since Sherlock solved his last case. He’d completed all the experiments he’d been meaning to get round to for months. He was up to date with all the latest research in any and every field of science that might possibly be of use to him. He’d ruined two of John’s dates, wrecked what Anderson had thought might be his last real chance at happiness, annoyed Sally so much she’d attempted to arrest him, made Molly cry three times and broken into Lestrade’s flat to rearrange things every day for a week. The only thing he hadn’t tried yet was the heroine. He’d bored of cocaine more than a year ago and he’d never cared for speed or ecstasy. It might yet come to heroine but he was putting that off, a last resort. He hadn’t got any in the flat and it was such a hassle these days to get hold of the stuff. Even most drug dealers weren’t stupid enough to risk Mycroft’s wrath.

Mycroft. Of course that was the real reason he hadn’t yet gone looking for heroine. Mycroft would be watching and he would know, and that would completely defeat the point of buying the damn stuff in the first place.

The point of the drugs, of the horrible things he did and said to people, even, if he were totally honest, of the deduction, was to keep him away from Mycroft. Of course they bumped into each other now and then, My didn’t like to go too long without seeing Sherlock in the flesh, but such meetings were short and impersonal and usually revolved around some irritatingly simple case My wanted him to look over. And of course his brother never stopped sending him gifts, toxins and blood samples and interesting criminals and bits of people who had harmed him. But they never really met, never really talked, never got under one another’s skin and into one another’s minds. Sherlock put a lot of effort into making sure of that.

As always when he was bored, memories of what he could have, of what he was denying himself threatened to overwhelm him. His mind filled with pictures of Mycroft’s razor sharp smile, his strength, so unexpected and so well concealed, his darkly vicious sense of humour which no one but the two of them thought funny.

The vibration of his phone jerked him rudely from thoughts of what he had had, and what he could have again, if he only said the word.

He raised it to his ear without checking the caller ID. He knew who it would be.

“Darling.” Mycroft’s voice was a low purr, a subtle hint of a tease in it, which only Sherlock and the dead had ever heard. “You’re torturing yourself again.”

“Not torture. An exercise in self-control.”

“Darling, you know I’m terribly impressed, even if I don’t begin to understand what it is you’re trying to prove. You’ve more restraint than anyone I’ve ever come across. But don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”

“I’m proving that I don’t need it My, that I don’t need you. That I’m not like you.”

“Of course you’re not darling. Where would be the fun in that? And I believe you darling, really I do. You don’t need what I can offer. I understand that. But that doesn’t mean you don’t want it. There’s nothing on earth you could do that would convince either of us of that. And really Sherlock, what’s the point in denying yourself something that brings you such pleasure?”

“I won’t do it My,” Sherlock growled. “I don’t care if you understand or not, I’m not going to give in.”

Sherlock could see in his mind’s eye Mycroft’s disapproving frown. “Is this because of the little soldier?” Mycroft asked, sounding hurt. “I know you worry what he’ll think of you but I really don’t see…”

“I’M NOT GOING TO HELP YOU KILL PEOPLE MYCROFT!” Sherlock yelled, snapping his phone shut.

John’s face, as he stood in the doorway clutching bags of groceries, was a picture Sherlock was too upset to properly appreciate.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to make it clear, it's not the killing itself that Sherlock is addicted to, it's Mycroft (and all the games he invents for his little brother. Because it's Mycroft, naturally the games involve killing people. There's no point in playing if the stakes aren't high.) Always, however much they pretend otherwise, the brother's are addicted to one another.


End file.
